


If You Love Somebody

by Zai42



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Dark Martin, Light Bondage, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Control, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Riding, Spiders, Web Martin Blackwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-05-18 20:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19342249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/pseuds/Zai42
Summary: Martin has never been good at letting go.





	If You Love Somebody

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nelja-in-English (Nelja)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelja/gifts).



> Happy Nonconathon! I hope you enjoy, and thank you for the delicious prompts~

Martin knew Annabelle was manipulating him. He wasn't stupid. He knew all her honey-sweet promises were lies, little morsels set out to ensnare him in her web, a trap woven from silk and temptation.

  
He also didn't care.

  
He had never been a good fit for the Lonely, but the first time he spun his strings around Peter, sent him sauntering off oblivious to Martin's machinations - there was no turning back. It was satisfying. It was _addicting,_ that slick rush of power that slipped through his veins, burning like venom or scorched sugar.

  
So no, he didn't particularly care that Annabelle was using him for her own ends. He couldn't exactly argue he wasn't doing the same to her, after all.

  
It shouldn't have been a surprise to find Annabelle in the Archives, really. Martin knew by now, the claim the Web had over Jon. But it was still jolting, to find himself wandering down into the Archives - he hadn't realized he was doing it until he was there, hadn't wondered why until he was pushing open the door to Jon's office to find -

  
Martin's first thought was not, _Jon is going to hate this._ His first thought was simply _Oh,_ and it was soaked through with a bone-deep hunger, a bright thrill of greedy, selfish heat. Jon's head lolled back into Annabelle's hands, his eyes dreamy and unfocused. Annabelle's long fingers carded through his hair; the clinging strands of web that enveloped him caught the light and seemed to glow a muted silver. Martin's mouth felt dry.

  
"Say hello to Martin, Archivist," Annabelle said.

  
And Martin expected Jon to fight back, to say something acerbic and ill-tempered, but Jon only turned to him and murmured, "Hello, Martin," his voice sedate and subdued, and Martin stumbled one drunken step forward.

  
"You can touch him if you like," Annabelle said. Her own hand traced the line of Jon's jaw, down his neck, threads of silk gathering along her fingertips. A spider scurried over Jon's shoulder and vanished again.

  
"Why are you - "

  
Annabelle clicked her tongue. "Do you want my present or not?"

  
Martin snapped his mouth shut, but remained where he was, gnawing on his lip. "What will you do if I don't?" he asked.

  
Annabelle smiled serenely. "Come here, Martin," she said, and extended a hand, fingers curling in a come hither gesture. Martin was kneeling before her before he realized what was happening. He watched his hand reach out and caress Jon's cheek, his thumb swiping over his lower lip.

  
He had imagined this. Of course he had. In his daydreams, Jon's mouth was usually quirked in a tight smirk and he would say something wry before parting his lips for Martin's thumb. Now his mouth was slack and Martin pressed inside with little resistance, just the unintentional scrape of teeth against the pad of his thumb. Jon's eyes were locked on Martin but they were glassy and empty, without any of the piercing cleverness Martin had dreamed of before...before. Martin pressed his thumb down against Jon's tongue, wondering absently how far he could shove it down his throat before the Web couldn't dampen Jon's gag reflex any more.

  
Martin slid his finger out from between Jon's lips, and Jon sighed, nuzzling into Martin's palm like he was happy to be there. Like he wanted this. "Martin," he murmured, and Martin yanked him forward to press a kiss to his mouth. The kisses he'd dreamt of weren't like this - those were all shy, exploratory, cautious little shared moments, and this was searing and demanding and one-sided. Martin dragged his fingernails up the back of Jon's neck to tangle in his hair and in the clinging web there. Jon didn't quite kiss him back.

  
"Jon," Martin said against his lips. "Jon, y-you're - _here,_ aren't you?"

  
Above him, Annabelle giggled. "Do you really want him to be?" she asked. She pitched her voice low and scandalized. "What would he _think_ of you?"

  
Martin cradled the back of Jon's head and pressed their foreheads together, breathing in Jon's scent, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. He had wanted this, badly. Before he had imagined sweet nothings and hand holding, but - but ever since he had bent Peter to his will - the thought had crossed his mind. The power of the Web was intoxicating. And it wouldn't be selfish, would it, to just - to take care of Jon? It would be for him. Not Martin. Not just for Martin.

  
"Well, why shouldn't you have what you want?" Annabelle murmured somewhere above him. Jon tilted his head jerkily, pressed a clumsy kiss to the side of Martin's mouth, lips parted. His eyes were still so empty. "Is being selfish once in a while so bad, Martin?" Annabelle asked. Her fingers moved like she were twitching the strings of a marionette. "You just want him to be happy, don't you? He did say he missed you, didn't he?" 

  
Martin ran his hand down Jon's arm to where his wrists were bound with spider silk behind his back. He pulled away, took a shuddering breath, and whispered, "Come here."

  
Jon fell obediently into his arms, and Martin kissed him, slow and gentle, and he could almost convince himself they both wanted this.

  
Martin pressed Jon back against his desk and climbed into his lap, laying kisses along his jawline and down his neck. Beneath him, Jon was hard already, writhing up into Martin's hands and making soft, staccato noises into his mouth. His hands twitched in their bonds, and Martin ran his thumbs in circles over the pulse point of his wrists. "It's all right," he murmured; spiderwebs clung to his lips. "It's going to be all right, I've got you, now."

  
He had always imagined Jon would be shy when Martin finally got his hands on him, that he'd be awkward stripping his clothes off; now he arched his hips up off the floor to let Martin peel away his trousers, not sinuous and sensual as much as it was compliant, but Martin was willing to take what he could get, palming greedily at bared skin. Jon made a sound like all the air had been forced out of him, his cock twitching as Martin closed a fist around it. "Let me take care of you," Martin whispered.

  
"Martin - " Jon said, his voice slurred. Martin wondered if Annabelle had sent venom coursing through his veins, setting his nerves alight. Martin made a soothing noise and dipped his head to lick a slow, torturous circle around the head of Jon's cock.

  
Jon's cock twitched on his tongue, heavy and dripping. The thought that Annabelle had given him an aphrodisiac rose once more in Martin's mind, but he shoved it aside - he was good at this, after all. If there was heat pooling in Jon's stomach, there was no reason Martin couldn't have ignited it. He sank down further on Jon's cock, swallowed around it, relished the hot weight of it pressing into his throat.

  
Martin hummed, his eyes slipping closed in contentment. How many times had he dreamed of this? Of holding Jon's hips still and slowly unraveling him with lips and tongue and questing fingers? Of taking care of him the way he so desperately needed to be taken care of? Martin ran a thumb over the sharp jut of Jon's hip, urged him upwards and deeper into his mouth. He bobbed his head, falling into a rhythm, his fingernails digging crescent moons into Jon's skin. He pulled back, slowly, teasingly, trying to imagine that Jon's moan sounded genuine and not like air pushed out of an instrument.

  
"I'm going to make you feel so good," Martin whispered, slightly frantic, slightly desperate. "I promise, Jon. _My_ Jon," he added, pressing one shaky hand to Jon's cheek. Jon met his gaze blankly, then smiled with no emotion in his eyes, a mechanical twitch of the muscles. Martin settled himself in his lap.

  
It was slow going, using only spit for lube. Martin fingered himself open carefully, pressed against Jon chest-to-chest, one arm hooked around Jon's neck to keep him held close. "I've got you," Martin murmured. His breath hitched as his fingers inched deeper. "God, I - it's okay, I'm here, I - " He buried his face in the crook of Jon's neck, panting against his skin. His hips jolted forward, greedy, his own cock twitching as it brushed against Jon's. _"Mine,"_ he gasped.

  
Martin sank slowly onto Jon's cock, slicked with spit and pre-come. He had never quite dared to imagine this, even in his wildest, most hopeful of daydreams. Now his legs shook as he lowered himself fully into Jon's lap, relishing how full he felt, the satisfying stretch of it, the deep and pleasant ache pulsing low in his belly. For a moment he sat, clinging desperately to Jon and trembling as his body adjusted.

  
Then, slowly, he rolled his hips. Jon didn't move to meet him, and it took a moment for Martin to fall into a natural rhythm; the angle was slightly off but sparks still glittered up Martin's spine, his stomach clenching with an illicit thrill. "Jon - " he gasped, grinding harder against him. He was already so close, his cock dripping copiously against Jon's stomach. He couldn't decide if he wanted it to last or if he wanted to come, and rolled his hips in a long, indulgent movement, moaning as Jon pressed deeper into him.

  
"Martin," Jon mumbled, his lips moving against his skin. His shoulders twitched as he tried to move his hands. His breath caught in his throat. _"Martin - "_

  
The tenor of his voice had changed. Martin tilted his head back to catch Jon's gaze, and felt his heart leap into his throat. His eyes were clear, his face twisted with terror and shock and anger. Annabelle had vanished, and had apparently taken her webs with her - though a lone spider was sat on the desk near Jon's head, and Martin could swear it was laughing at him. Jon jerked wildly in his bonds, eyes blazing. Martin could feel his pulse hammering. "What are you - " The Archivist began, power dripping from his tongue.

  
Martin reached out. It was difficult, more than it had been with Peter - Jon knew now, and he was the Archivist, and seeing through deception was his forte - but Martin was clever. He buried himself in the complicated tangle of Jon's mind and _twisted,_ just slightly, just enough, and the horror in Jon's eyes melted into desire, his compulsion dying in his throat, unfinished. Instead he leaned up against Martin's chest and groaned against his skin. "Oh, god," he gasped. _"Martin."_

  
"That's right," Martin said breathlessly. "S-say my name again, like that, please - " As if he needed to ask. Jon let out a breathy whine, and Martin shuddered, clenching tight around him as orgasm crashed over him, whiting out his vision. "Come for me," he gasped, and Jon didn't need to be asked to do that, either.

  
Jon rocked against him, panting and shivering through the aftermath of his orgasm, and leaned up to press his lips to Martin's, soft and sweet, exactly the way Martin had always wanted him to. "I've missed you," he said.

  
Martin cradled his jaw and didn't quite meet his eyes. "Well, I'm here now," he said. He could feel Jon's mind whirring beneath the muffling layer of cobwebs clinging to it, a twitching thud like a panicked heartbeat. The Eye wouldn't stay blinded forever. Martin pressed a kiss to Jon's temple and wove another strand of power through Jon's thoughts. "I'm here now," he said again, and Jon was serene and unresisting beneath him.


End file.
